Comunicación
by EffortBroke
Summary: Spain and Romano are as terrible at communication as they are at stabilizing their economies. Oneshot. Rated T for Romano's language.


"I own Hetalia: Axis Powers". ~ Hidekaz Himaruya, at some point, probably.

As well, I'm adding a note here- In response to a helpful review I received, I would like to state that this oneshot is labeled humor/parody, and is not to be taken too seriously. Obviously ALL nations have their problems, and obviously none of this is personal. With that being said, have a nice-goddamn-day, reader.

* * *

Spain glanced at the clock for the twenty-third time that evening. Nearly midnight. This night was just one in a weeklong string of late nights in which Romano was out, without Spain, with muttered explanations on the way out the door and a suspiciously bad temper for someone who was recently engaged. Even more suspect were his excuses, claiming to be out with Portugal, Prussia, and France of all people! Spain was fairly certain Romano was being sardonic - for - despite being far from the sharpest axe in the murder shed and almost completely unable to detect sarcasm, he was well aware of this weakness and did his best to concentrate on reading the atmosphere. _So,_ Spain wondered, _Where is Romano, if not where he says he is?_ He had been leaving in such a hurry and with such minimal explanation it was difficult to understand. However, tonight Spain had a plan. Tonight he would get his answers! He would stay up and ask his sweet little bundle of abandonment issues and severely inadequate anger management exactly what was happening! Unfortunately, Spain was incapable of sleeping less than eighteen hours a day, and was soon adorably passed out, spread eagle on the floor like one of the corpses of the thousands of innocent people he brutally tortured during his inquisition. Fun times. Also he tried this every night for the past week with the same result. A real Sherlock, this one.

The following morning, Spain woke up, chirpy as always, to the smell of his favorite breakfast - churros with chocolate and coffee! (Sugar, sugar, and caffeine. And Americans are supposed to be the pigs. Anyway...) Romano grouchily slammed a tray onto his lap, kicked him in the shin and spat in his coffee, to show his affection. Spain just brushed it off and dunked his churros in the chocolate, grinning like a kid at Christmas. (Romano's borderline abusive behavior didn't bother him at all, which, I guess, no one finds disturbing at all for some reason. Whatever, tsunderes are great if you have a high pain threshold, I suppose). "Here's your fucking breakfast, asshole Antonio. Geez, I hope you go to hell. But i-it's not like I l-like you or anything! B-bastard!" Romano dashed away, face red as a goddamn tomato, leading us all to wonder how the hell Hot and Dumb here managed to successfully get Tsundere Level Nine-Thousand in bed in the first place. (It probably had nothing to do with their shared tomato fetish, though).

After a morning of paperwork and an honestly unnecessary siesta (Spain's office was air conditioned, and had been since the fifties), the two Mediterranean nations woke tangled in sheets sticky with midday heat and tomato pulp (In a completely non-sexual context this time, surprisingly. No, really). Maybe it was the comfortable silence which Spain was oblivious to, or perhaps it was the heat that sparked the idea in his pretty little head. "Lovi, where have you been going at night the past week? I want to know", Spain frowned at his drowsy partner, with whom his relationship wasn't weird even the teensiest bit, despite him being his former guardian. Nope...not odd at all people, nothing to question there.

"Why the hell are you asking, bastard? I already told you", Romano snarled back, his nap and full stomach making his retort slightly more agreeable than usual. Spain took a deep breath as Romano nestled back into the covers. _C'mon Toño! Eres un conquistador!_ But Spain couldn't help it, he was no longer a conquistador, but a nation of bull-concussed, siesta groggy people, nearly a quarter of which were unemployed, with no sea of stolen gold or enslaved natives to compensate. Spain burst into tears while attempting with all his might to be serious and intimidating, while Romano stared awkwardly at the wall.

"I-I just wanted to know why! I don't understand your weird opposite talk, and I don't understand why you're out so late so often!" Spain's green eyes widened and he bawled, "You- you're not cheating are you?" Romano turned and blinked, knitting his brows and opening his mouth to negate the—. " _¡Puta!_ Who are you cheating with? Why would you do this?" Spain's tears turned to rage and Romano blanched, "I'm not! I was just seeing Portugal and your idiot friends!" Spain's rage turned to a gasp. "You're cheating on me with Portugal and my idiot friends?" Romano growled. "No, I mean, _bastardo,_ I'm just—just trying to get along with the people you're close to now that we're, y-you know, together," the Italian blushed furiously and looked anywhere but his fiance's face.

Spain brightened considerably and scratched his head. "Well, now I think I understand. But Lovi, you could've just told me that and we could've avoided this whole mess," Romano facepalmed. "I did, _Idiota,_ you were just too dense to take me seriously when you needed to." The Iberian nation paused, gears turning in his usually empty head. "But Loooooviiiii, you know I have trouble catching on to those things, so why didn't you make it so I'd understand?" Spain whined at his former vassal state. "Surprisingly sharp, _bastardo_ , you win this round," Romano huffed. For several minutes the pair sat in silence on the bed, bathed in the buttery glow of the summer sun. "You don't think we have any communication issues we need to resolve, do we, _bastardo_?" Spain's brow furrowed at the question. "Nah, I'm sure we're fine".


End file.
